


cracks in the pavement will lead you home

by deusreks



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Coming of Age, Emotional Sex, Fluff, Growing Up, M/M, Slow Build, Urban Fantasy, a tiny bit of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:24:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5552276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deusreks/pseuds/deusreks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Bokuto often thinks about Akaashi, especially when he’s running. It’s like his legs know where they’re supposed to take him. He grows into a habit of running a lot, just to keep that feeling going. Cracks and holes in the pavement aren’t fun to jump over if the final reward isn’t seeing Akaashi’s face.</i><br/> </p><p>An alternate universe with a little bit of magic and a lot of growing up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. When you need me

**ONE: what they found when they followed the cracks in the pavement**

Bokuto Koutarou’s legs are short, but when he makes a run for it, he’s unstoppable. His fingers are wrapped around his best friend’s wrist as he pulls him along. Kuroo Tetsurou can’t run that fast but Bokuto would never leave him behind. Behind them, a storm of footsteps is approaching fast.

Bokuto stops in front of a dark, narrow alleyway. “Here!” He exclaims.

Kuroo pulls his wrist so hard it sets Bokuto three steps back. Kuroo, ever the voice of reason, says, “No way. This is the street we’re not allowed to go through. There are cracks and holes in the pavement and—“

Bokuto sprints into the street with such force that Kuroo swallows his protests in a single gasp. He keeps his eyes glued to the ground and navigates around gaping holes in the pavement. He pretends there are spikes in the holes and it motivates his 8-year-old mind.

“They went here!” Bokuto hears one of the 5th graders behind him.

Bokuto stops abruptly and Kuroo slams into his back. In front of them is a kind of shop Bokuto’s never seen before. The entire front wall is lifted and hovering above it like a roof. Underneath, halfway out in the street, is a counter. A young man sits there and reads a book. He doesn’t spare them a glance.

Bokuto takes that as a sign. He pulls Kuroo inside and they crouch behind the counter. His pulse races with adrenaline and fear. Next to him, Kuroo is just as sweaty, mussed and out of breath. Kuroo pulls his knees to his chest and his curious eyes wonder around the shop.

The shop is small and dark. There are no windows and each wall caters to one long shelf. Each shelf is filled with various items whose use Bokuto can’t determine. In the middle of the shop is a silver table Bokuto’s only seen on TV. There are tools scattered all over it. A steady breeze that smells of soap and jasmine streams from the walls.

“I saw them go through here,” the voice of the same 5th grader approaches. Bokuto covers his mouth.

“There’s nothing here,” another voice says.

“Let’s check another street. They can’t be far.” That makes three voices.

Bokuto listens until their footsteps are an echo in the distance. He removes his hand from his mouth and lets his worries out in one, long sigh. Next to him, Kuroo sags down as if his spine has melted.

Immediately after, Kuroo tugs at Bokuto’s jacket. “Kou, your jacket is torn.”

Bokuto pulls at his jacket. Indeed, the corner of his pocket is split open and a few strings dangle from it. He doesn’t remember when it happened, but it must’ve been when he was running.

For the first time, the young man turns to them. His face is pretty. His dark hair is curly at the ends and his nose is small and snub. It’s his eyes that are scary, however, with their sharpness and mysterious glint. His expression is that of adults when they’re about to tell you not to run or eat candy before dinner. Bokuto can’t tell if he’s in awe or in danger. He swallows and waits.

“Show me your jacket,” the man says. Bokuto complies in an instant and gets on his feet. He turns to the man and shows him the hole in the jacket. The man touches it and turns the pocket inside-out, his eyes narrowing. “Take it off.”

Bokuto allows the jacket to slip off his shoulders. The man catches it with his swift, long fingers and spreads it on the counter. Bokuto blinks and, just like that, a thread and a needle appear in the man’s hands.

“Is there an animal you like?” The man asks.

“Owls,” Kuroo pitches in. He’s standing next to Bokuto as he wraps his hand around Bokuto’s shoulders. He seems to have recovered. “Doesn’t he look like one?” Kuroo punctuates his statement by poking the crease between Bokuto’s eyes. That only deepens Bokuto’s frown.

“ _Hey_!”

The man’s facial expression remains dead serious. “Owls are the finest bird of prey.”

“This one is just a prey,” Kuroo says and ruffles Bokuto’s hair. Bokuto elbows him in the ribs.

“You seem to be in trouble,” the man says. He’s begun stitching the jacket with a black thread. His fingers deftly patch up the hole. He works faster than Bokuto’s mother.

“We’re not in trouble. The boys chasing _us_ are in trouble!” Bokuto says and crosses his arms. He didn’t do anything wrong.

“How so?”

“They were bullying a cat in the street and we stopped them,” Kuroo explains. Bokuto knows he’s proud of this feat by the way he holds his chin high and his shoulders straight.

“Then they tried to bully us but they failed,” Bokuto says and offers his palm for Kuroo to high-five. “What’s your name, Mister?”

“Akaashi Keiji.” Akaashi speaks without looking at them. His eyes are focused on his fingers as they carefully work around the hole in Bokuto’s jacket. “May I know yours?”

“I’m Bok—“ Bokuto begins but Kuroo kicks him in the shin. Bokuto stops and remembers every lesson his mother’s ever taught him.

Akaashi glances at them and his lip is curled slightly upward. “Good. I’m a stranger.”

Bokuto purses his lips but Kuroo ignores him.

“Feel free to look around the shop and take whatever you’d like,” Akaashi says. Bokuto forgets about his almost-slip-up and ventures into the shop. Kuroo stays behind to watch Akaashi.

At the end of the shop there are doors illuminated by an overhead blue light. Bokuto tries the doorknob but the doors don’t budge. He then meanders around the table and observes items on each shelf that surround it. He can’t see some because the shelves are too high. When he comes closer, he notices that most items are moving as if they’re breathing. Most of them have a purple, blue, red or green glow about them. Bokuto keeps his hands locked behind his back fearing he’ll break something.

Faintly, he hears Kuroo speak to Akaashi. “They said there’s nothing here. Why?”

“They don’t need me.”

“ _We_ needed a place to hide.”

“Yes.”

Bokuto turns around as if stung by a bee and knocks over a tin can with his elbow. A myriad of tiny items scatter on the floor, like marbles. Bokuto falls to his knees to collect them. The items are cold in his hands. A few of them catch his fancy – a ring that changed from purple to blue when he picked it up and a silver dice. He looks up to see Akaashi and Kuroo staring at him.

“Did you find something you like?” Akaashi asks.

Bokuto opens his palm to show a dice and a ring.

“Are you sure? Check what it says on the can.”

Bokuto picks up the can and brings it closer to his face. Then, he notices a scrap of paper taped to it. It says, _junk_. Bokuto puts the can back on the shelf and returns to stand by Kuroo’s side.

“Yes. I like these,” he says.

Akaashi nods and Bokuto slides the ring and the dice in his pocket.

Kuroo fidgets with his fingers, his eyes set on Akaashi’s face. When Kuroo fidgets, Bokuto is tempted to fidget too.

“I’m Kuroo Tetsurou!” Kuroo blurts out. He seems shocked by his actions, his eyes blown wide, and so is Bokuto.

“Traitor!” he exclaims.

Akaashi smiles as he bites off the last piece of thread. A sticker of a grey owl sits proudly where the hole used to be. He holds the jacket up for Bokuto to take. Bokuto slips it on but he doesn’t forget about Kuroo’s betrayal.

“I’m Bokuto Koutarou.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Akaashi says. “It’s best that you go now. You’ll worry your parents.”

Bokuto and Kuroo nod in unison. On their way out, Bokuto says, “Thank you for hiding us!”

“Anytime,” Akaashi waves at them.

Kuroo and Bokuto make their way down the street. They jump over the cracks and holes in the pavement that seem to grow larger the deeper they go. Kuroo glances back once and his face fills with horror. Bokuto feels dread sneaking up his spine – are the bullies back? He turns around but all he sees are doors of Akaashi’s unusual shop hovering like an awkward roof.

Bokuto’s pocket is heavy with two small items.

 

 

**TWO: the first time Akaashi reads to Bokuto**

Bokuto is nine when he first sneaks out of the house. His parents are in the kitchen, making enough noise to cover his footsteps as he slips out the front door. He runs and runs and doesn’t know where he wants to go until he finds himself jumping over holes in the pavement. Buildings are giants, closing in on him, until he sees a familiar patch of dark hair leaning over a book.

He runs inside, alarming Akaashi as he storms past him. He rests his open palms on his knees and takes some time to catch his breath. He hears a book close gently and the scraping of the chair as it turns.

“Bokuto?”

Bokuto takes another deep breath and lifts his head, his lips splitting into a wide grin. “’Sup Akaashi.”

Akaashi leans back in his chair, smiling lightly. He’s wearing a dark blue shirt today and a round, silver earring adorns his earlobe. “Did something happen?”

Bokuto shrugs. He gives the shop a perfunctory glance but not much has changed since the last time he’s been here a few weeks ago. “I wanted to go somewhere quiet.”

“How so?”

“Mom and dad talk to each other real loud.” Bokuto shakes his head as if to forget about it. He comes closer to Akaashi and peers over his shoulder at the book he has been reading. “What are you reading?” The book is thick and half of the pages are stained dark yellow. Bokuto can’t read what it says on the cover.

“Nothing you’d like,” Akaashi says. His chair creaks as he turns it back around.

“Read me something I’d like then,” Bokuto says and cracks a smile. He hopes it will work. It usually does, with adults. Akaashi gives him a look that is difficult to decipher. A first drop of rain falls on the concrete. One drop turns into ten and then the sky splits open and cries all over the pavement. The cracks and holes are brimming with water in a matter of minutes.

Akaashi absentmindedly touches the cover of the book, his gaze fixed on the wet pavement. He caresses the cover three times and it changes. Bokuto still can’t read what it says.

“Alright,” Akaashi says. “Pull up that chair.”

There’s a chair in the corner that looks even less stable than the one Akaashi’s sitting on. Bokuto feigns ignorance and plops on Akaashi’s knee. That way, he ran reach the counter and rest his elbows on it. He feels Akaashi grow still and cold as stone. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it and now Akaashi will kick him out.

Akaashi doesn’t.

He opens the book and begins reading from the start. Bokuto listens not so much to the story but to Akaashi’s voice. Against the padding of the rain, the soft cadence of Akaashi’s words is like a lullaby to him. He closes his eyes against it. It’s the kind of silence and peace Bokuto doesn’t have a word for yet.

 

 

**THREE: the only secret Bokuto keeps from Kuroo**

“The one who rolls a six has to go buy us juice,” Bokuto exclaims and gives Kuroo the dice. He looks less suspicious if he rolls it second. Kuroo raises an eyebrow in a condemning way not fit for a ten-year-old. He takes the dice anyway.

“This better not be a trick,” Kuroo warns and blows on the dice in his palm.

“Would _I_ ever?” Bokuto crosses his arms and falls back in his chair.

Kuroo rolls the dice in his closed palms and then opens it. The dice falls out and lands on a four. Kuroo clicks his tongue. Bokuto wiggles his eyebrows and Kuroo kicks him underneath the table.

Bokuto takes the dice and repeats Kuroo’s little ritual to mock him. He knows how this will end; he’s witnessed it a million times. Bokuto releases the dice and it rolls and rolls and rolls until it lands on a perfect six. Bokuto grins.

“This is the seventh time,” Kuroo says and his tone is accusing.

“I guess I must be lucky.”

Kuroo lets it slide with a sigh, as he tends to do, and leaves to buy them juice. Bokuto picks up the dice and brings it in front of his eyes. Every time he wins, he expects the dice to glow or show him a sign it’s not an ordinary dice. But the dice remains silver and small and cold just as it was the day Bokuto’s got it from Akaashi’s shop. He hides the dice in his pocket and waits for Kuroo’s return.

 

When they go home from school, he and Kuroo have a habit of skipping every second tile on the pavement. Kuroo is better at it. His legs are long, and keep growing longer, and by now he can skip two tiles without breaking a sweat. Bokuto has more power in his arms and can win any game of arm-wrestling – even against sixth graders. Still, he likes jumping over tiles.

“Hey, Tetsu,” Bokuto says. He’s just skipped over a tile and watches Kuroo skip over two. He lands as nimble as a cat. Bokuto’s never seen him fall.

“Yeah?”

“Why don’t you ever come with me to visit Akaashi?” Bokuto asks, like he’s been meaning to for a while. He still remembers the look on Kuroo’s face when he looked back on that day two and a half years ago.

Kuroo stops skipping stones. He keeps his hair trimmed but some disobedient strands stick up on the top of his head and the back of his neck. He turns away from Bokuto and his hair does a cute bouncing motion Bokuto sometimes teases him about.

“Tetsu?”

When Kuroo faces Bokuto, he’s grinning. A cat-like grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually does.

“Let’s go,” Kuroo says.

“Yeah!”

Bokuto leads the way. When they enter the narrow street, Bokuto navigates the cracks and holes in the pavement. He’s made a game of it. He pretends a nasty, otherworldly hand will grab his ankle if he comes too close. When they near the shop, Bokuto prepares to call for Akaashi. Kuroo grabs the back of his shirt and pulls him behind a garbage container.

“Tetsu?”

Kuroo’s fingers are thumbing the back of Bokuto’s shirt, trembling. Bokuto can’t turn around like this. Kuroo doesn’t let him.

“Kou, I can’t see it,” Kuroo says. Bokuto goes cold. He doesn’t understand. “You can see it, right?”

“It’s right there,” Bokuto says and peeks at the shop. It’s there, with its weird hovering wall-roof and protruding counter and Akaashi and full shelves.  

“I can’t see it.”

Bokuto fights against Kuroo’s hold and turns around. He smiles, as wide and reassuring as he can, and puts his hand on Kuroo’s shoulders. Kuroo is only a few centimeters shorter, but just enough for Bokuto to have an upper-hand.

“Let’s go to my place and play video games.”

Kuroo’s eyes light up behind his messy fringe. “Yeah.”

 

**FOUR: Akaashi tells Bokuto something he doesn’t want to hear**

Bokuto leaves the house early that morning and runs to Akaashi’s shop. The sun hits the back of his head and he feels dizzy and hot by the time he reaches it. He’s surprised to find another person inside, perusing one of the books from the shelves.

Akaashi is working on something on the table and he greets Bokuto with a smile. Bokuto drops his school bag on the floor and walks deeper into the room; the deeper he goes, the cooler the air gets. He welcomes the opportunity to breathe.

The lady puts the book down and comes to stand next to Akaashi. She’s tall and has a shiny hair that reaches her waist. When she leans down, her hair falls in golden waterfalls over the table. Bokuto is breathless with her beauty and looks away before she catches him staring.

Akaashi works, undisturbed by two shadows hovering above him, on a bookmark. His fingers leave a dust of purple wherever they touch the glossy surface. Bokuto finds himself wishing Akaashi would touch his hair and make it glow red or silver. After a while, Akaashi finishes the bookmark and lifts it to his face for a final check-up.

“There,” Akaashi says and hands the bookmark to the lady. “It will never fall out of your books. And it will memorize every page or quote you like.”

The lady’s lips are pink and lovely when she smiles and takes the bookmark. “Thank you. How much do I owe you?”

“You owe me only to use it well,” Akaashi says. He doesn’t smile often, and he doesn’t smile now, but the way he talks often feels like a smile. And his intentions carry.

The lady gives Akaashi a quick peck on the cheek and even ruffles Bokuto’s hair on the way out.

“ _Whoa!_ You can make a bookmark like that? Can you make me a pencil that solves my exams 100%?” Bokuto jumps around Akaashi. He eyes the tools on the table but there’s nothing magical about them. The magic is in Akaashi’s fingers. Or so Bokuto believes.

“Yes, I can,” Akaashi says. Bokuto beams hopefully. “But I won’t.”

Bokuto purses his lips and presses the pads of his fingers together in a subtle pleading gesture. “ _Aw_ , Akaashi.”

Akaashi crouches and ruffles Bokuto’s hair with both his hands. “You have to study.”

“You sound like Kuroo.”

Akaashi stops ruffling Bokuto’s hair. “How is he…? Kuroo?”

Bokuto stops pouting. There’s a hollow ache in his chest that he can’t explain. But it’s familiar. He’s felt it when Kuroo told him he can’t see the shop.

“He’s fine,” Bokuto says. “His hair does that thing though.” Bokuto performs a couple of weird gestures that are meant to represent Kuroo’s wild hair. This would make Kuroo smile. It should make Akaashi smile too, but Akaashi’s eyes are keen and beckoning. Bokuto’s hands fall to his sides. “Why can’t he see your shop?”

Akaashi sighs. Bokuto’s glad he doesn’t stand up. Something about adults being on the same eye-level as him feels less condescending.

“He doesn’t need me for anything,” Akaashi says. “That’s not a bad thing.”

Bokuto bites his lip. “But I can _always_ see your shop.”

Akaashi opens his mouth as if to say something but then his eyes fall behind the curtain of his eyelashes. He lifts himself up and leaves to sit at the counter.

“You’ll be late for school,” he says.

Bokuto just stands there for a couple of seconds. Then he runs for his bag, grabs it and keeps sprinting all the way to Kuroo’s house.

 

**FIVE: hugs are meant to be a cure**

Bokuto and Kuroo had grand plans for middle school. After Destiny’s intervention, they would end up in the same class as they always do. They debated which sports club they’d join and opted for either volleyball or soccer. One of them will be the new team captain. Kuroo said they would _not_ throw dice for it. They would both grow at least 10 centimeters before high school.

All plans fell through and Bokuto is once again awake before the dawn. He doesn’t sneak out of the house. He storms out of it with anger and sadness in him that he doesn’t know how to express.

He jumps over the cracks in the pavement, trips over his own feet and lands face first. His chin stings and when he touches it, there’s blood on the pads of his fingers. He wipes his fingers on his shorts and keeps running.

Akaashi lifts his head as if alarmed by Bokuto’s desperate last sprint.  

“Bokuto, you’re bleeding,” Akaashi says. His pupils swallow the color in his eyes. 

Bokuto enters the shop and walks around the counter until he stands right in front of him. Akaashi clenches and unclenches his fist. Bokuto’s seen adults do this – it means they don’t know what to do.

That is alright, Bokuto thinks, because _he_ knows what to do. Akaashi is sitting which makes it easy for Bokuto to wrap his arms around Akaashi’s neck and hug him. He’s never done this with Akaashi. He never needed to. But he likes hugs. Except when they mean ‘ _goodbye_ ’.

Akaashi doesn’t return the gesture but he doesn’t attempt to push Bokuto away either.

Akaashi smells clean, like soap and jasmine. Bokuto realizes that it’s not Akaashi who smells like the shop but the shop that smells like Akaashi. He buries his nose in the crook of Akaashi’s neck and sobs. He didn’t mean to, but his throat is young and betrays him easily.

“Bokuto, are you crying?” Akaashi’s voice is tender and careful and it only makes Bokuto hurt more.

“No,” Bokuto lies. He feels bad for staining Akaashi’s skin and shirt with his tears and snot.

Akaashi’s silent for a while, then he says, “Are your parents still talking loud?”

“No,” Bokuto says. “Because I’m going to live with my mom in Hokkaido.” His mother mentioned returning home to her roots, putting distance between a broken relationship and a new start. Bokuto forgot half of it.

When he broke the news to Kuroo, Kuroo cried. Then Bokuto cried. Kuroo’s mom hugged him a lot and told him it’ll be okay, that adults can’t see eye to eye sometimes but it doesn’t mean they don’t love their children. Bokuto hopes Akaashi won’t tell him the same thing.

Akaashi doesn’t say anything. He pats Bokuto’s hair and stays silent for the longest time.

 

On the day of his departure, the winter is in full bloom. When Bokuto breathes, air freezes on his lips. Kuroo’s wearing his silly blue jacket with a snickering black cat. And he doesn’t look like he’s been crying. Bokuto’s glad. He hasn’t been crying for days now either.

Bokuto’s mother is packing the last of their things in her car. Bokuto’s father is helping her.

Bokuto takes this opportunity to hug Kuroo one more time. He’s aware that 12-year-old boys don’t often hug so often or for so long, but Bokuto doesn’t care. And neither does Kuroo.

“Don’t grow taller than me,” Bokuto says.

Kuroo, the sneaky bastard, wraps his hands on the inside of Bokuto’s unbuttoned jacket. This gives him an opportunity to tickle Bokuto’s sensitive sides. Bokuto wiggles and laughs but doesn’t break the embrace.

“I’ll be three times taller than you the next time we see each other,” Kuroo promises.

“You wish.”

 

Bokuto doesn’t like long rides in confined spaces. He falls into a dreamless sleep and doesn’t wake until they arrive at their new home.

 

**SIX: making friends when you’re loud**

Bokuto’s not nervous on the first day of middle school. Sure, some people may know each other but most of them will be in a new environment surrounded by new people. He marches into the classroom and shouts an enthusiastic “HEY”. He earns a couple of grins, a couple of raised eyebrows and a couple of whispers.

He’s seated in the last row between a boy with glasses and a blonde-haired boy. Neither of them talk to Bokuto. During recess, he texts Kuroo.

**Me**

_hey hey still joining the volley club?_

**Kuroo**

_du’h you better join too so I can kick your ass one day_ _(=_ _ↀ_ _ω_ _ↀ_ _=)_ _✧_

**Me**

_you wish!!!!!_

Bokuto applies to a volleyball club and finds practice refreshing. He plays a few matches with other first years and finds spiking the ball the greatest thrill of all. The team captain is a tall, broad-shouldered boy who smiles like Kuroo. It scares other first years, but to Bokuto it's a hint of home.

 

**Me**

_I think they’ll let me play in matches soon_

**Kuroo**

_let me guess: you were loud_

**Me**

_I am meant to be heard_

**Kuroo**

_(*ΦωΦ*) you’re meant to be defeated by one and only Kuroo Tetsurou_

**Me**

_you wish!!!!!!_

 

Akinori Konoha is one of few classmates Bokuto dares to call his friend. At this point, he misses Kuroo to the point of madness. He texts him about it and Kuroo tells him to stop being sappy (and then he texts him that he misses him too).

Akinori often frowns and smirks at the most inappropriate of times. Bokuto is sure he would get along well with Kuroo. Both he and Bokuto become regular players in their second year. Bokuto is named the vice-captain of their team. But Bokuto is yet to play Kuroo in an official match. They made a vow: they will only face each other on the court once they’re third years _and_ captains. It will make their final showdown that more dramatic.

Bokuto tells this to Akinori once. Akinori raises an eyebrow over his perfectly-made lunch box. He tells Bokuto to “ _do something about his lame receives before dreaming about epic showdowns_.” Bokuto pouts about it for days, but stays late after practice anyway.

 

**SEVEN: missing and needing**

Bokuto often thinks about Akaashi, especially when he’s running. It’s like his legs know where they’re supposed to take him. He grows into a habit of running a lot, just to keep that feeling going. Cracks and holes in the pavement aren’t fun to jump over if the final reward isn’t seeing Akaashi’s face. He’s never asked for Akaashi’s number. When he thinks about it, he’s never seen Akaashi with a cell phone. He probably doesn’t have one.

He makes a mental note to ask Kuroo for a favour when he gets home from practice.

 

Evenings are reserved for Kuroo. Bokuto eats, showers, kisses his mother goodnight and then plops on his bed. Every muscle in his body is buzzing with exhaustion as he dials Kuroo’s number. Kuroo picks up fast, he always does.

“ _Meow_ ,” Kuroo greets.

“Kuroo, I have a favour to ask,” Bokuto says. He twirls that old, color-changing ring around his finger. Right now, it’s dark blue. Bokuto attached it on a thin, silver chain because it wasn’t wide enough for his finger. He never takes it off. During practice, he tucks it under his shirt.

“ _Whoa_ ,” Kuroo says. His voice is deeper over the line. “No _hooting_? This must be serious.”

“ _Kuroo_.”

“Yes, go ahead.” Kuroo’s tone abandons playfulness and goes into serious-mode.  

“Have you been to Akaashi’s lately?”

An awkward pause wraps around them. As if Kuroo knew what Bokuto would ask but didn’t prepare an answer.

“Sometimes I walk by. But I don’t see the shop. I often wonder if he notices me.”

Bokuto sighs. “He does, I’m sure.”

Another stretch of silence.

“Could you, maybe, go there and say ‘hi’ to him for me. Ask him how he’s doing?”

“Will that work?”

Bokuto opens his mouth and a string of incoherent ‘thinking’ noises leaves it.

“I _need_ you to go see him,” Bokuto says.

“Yeah,” Kuroo says. Bokuto hears him smile. “Okay, that could work.”

 

The next day at practice, Bokuto is restless. He spikes a lot of balls and receives praise but he doesn’t feel good about it. Perhaps Kuroo is right in calling him simple-minded. But Kuroo should never be notified of being right.

Akinori makes him drink a bottle of water because he’s convinced Bokuto’s over-heating.

 

The evening couldn’t come faster. Bokuto skips dinner, kisses his mother twice to make up for it and jumps on his bed with a phone pressed to his ear. Kuroo answers after three rings.

“Good evening my dearest owl,” Kuroo greets.

“’Sup, Kitty,” Bokuto says in his usual tone when he’s, in fact, about to leap out of his skin.

“I have good news,” Kuroo says. Bokuto fights back the urge to scream a victorious ‘yes’. “I’ve been to Akaashi.”

“And, _and_ —?“

Kuroo guffaws on the other end of the line. Something’s put him in a good mood. “Well, the shop looks exactly as I remember it. So does, Akaashi. He does have some swirly black tattoos on his arms that made me all hot around the collar.”

“Wow,” Bokuto says.

“Shut up,” Kuroo says. “Anyway, he told me to tell you to ‘ _study hard’_.”

“Typical.”

“And that he misses you.”

Bokuto’s rendered speechless. He has to say something before Kuroo teases him about it. “Cool.” He wants to kick himself for his impeccable choice of words.

“I told him you miss him too.”

Bokuto laughs nervously. “And what did he say to that?”

“Nothing. He pretended to be all cool and flipped the page of his book. But he smiled, he totally did.”

“Cool.”

“Everything is cool to you today, isn’t it?”

Bokuto jumps out of his bed. A surge of energy fills his limbs. He feels like going for a run. “Sometimes, things _are_ cool, Kuroo.”

“ _Right_.”

 

**EIGHT: family hair-dyeing**

Bokuto is a third-year and named the captain of the team. He texts Kuroo about it only to learn Kuroo’s become a captain too. The promised day is approaching fast. His mom, a hair-dresser that took over her family business, tells him she’ll dye his hair. It’s a reward Bokuto is eager to accept.

She’s a perky woman, Bokuto’s mother. Bokuto’s been worried that she would lose her smile after the divorce. She did, for a while. But Bokuto understands, now that he’s older, that she and his father had disagreements. They split on peaceful terms and Bokuto didn’t blame either of them. Bokuto’s father visited them on every holiday. He brings gifts for both Bokuto and his mother. His parents simply didn’t love each other anymore. Perhaps that’s why Bokuto’s never heard them argue in those few days they were together.

“What colour is ‘ _pale pavement_ ’?” She asks Bokuto when he sits in the chair.

“It’s pavement. But pale,” Bokuto says.

“So grey-silver?”

“Yeah, but leave black streaks in it.”

His mother begins combing his hair. “I can’t wait to see your father's reaction to pale pavement.”

“Me too.”

His mother laughs. Bokuto ranks her laugh number one in his books. Kuroo’s is number two. Akaashi’s is third and Bokuto feels guilty about it. Akaashi deserves to be somewhere between Kuroo and his mother, for the rarity of his smile alone.

Bokuto closes his eyes and doesn’t open them until his mother’s finished. When he opens them, his entire face lights up with a grin. The mirror is either very kind to him or this hairstyle was meant to grace his head.

“I look like I’ve been poking a socket,” Bokuto says and touches his hair. It’s soft but sticks upwards.

“Is that a good thing?” His mother asks through a smile.

“Yeah!” He gets out of his seat and turns to his mother. “You should dye your hair too.”

His mother puts her hands on her hips. “Oh, really? Which colour?”

Bokuto strokes his chin and thinks about it. The first thing that comes to mind is one particular morning a couple of years ago. He says, “A golden waterfall!”

“Blonde?” Says his mother as she touches a strand of her dark hair.

“I dare you,” Bokuto says and taunts her with his eyebrows.

“I’m not Tetsurou.”

“I _double_ dare you.”

“Fine!”

Bokuto pumps his fist in the air, and that’s when it happens. His mother loses balance and comes falling forward to her knees. Bokuto jumps to catch her. She’s conscious but completely limp in his arms. Bokuto’s heart freezes with worry. She _has_ been overworking herself.

“Mom?!”

“It’s okay,” she says, weakly, and grabs for his shirt. “I’m just tired.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, help me up.”

This doesn’t happen again for a few months.

 

**NINE: epic showdown**

“KUROO!!” Bokuto’s yell carries across the court. On the other side of the court, Kuroo lifts his chin with pride and cracks a Cheshire grin.

“You’re going down, annoying owl!” Kuroo points a finger at him.

“COME AT ME!”

The entirety of supporters and players stare at them in silence, mouth hanging open. Bokuto doesn’t care. He hasn’t been to Tokyo in years and he’s been waiting for this just as long. His mother and his father are sitting in the bleachers, face palming.

Bokuto approaches the net at the same time Kuroo does.

“What happened to your hair?” Kuroo asks and points at Bokuto’s head.

“What happened to _your_ hair?” Kuroo’s head is messier than ever. Almost as if it has its own will.

“Is this how it’s going to be?” Kuroo teases. He tangles his fingers in the net. “Come here and hug me.”

Bokuto looks around him as if somebody can hear them. “I’m _dying_ to. But we have a reputation to keep. We’re enemies now.”

“Damn, you’re right.”

“Plus, I’ll hug you once you lose. You can cry on my shoulder.” Bokuto sticks his tongue out and tugs the skin under his eye.

Kuroo’s eye twitches. “You’re on.”

Kuroo’s team is good. When Bokuto says good, he means that they gave him a run for his money. Kuroo did grow taller than Bokuto. Not by much, admittedly, but he’s a scary presence in front of the net. His team flows around him like water and he controls that flow like a musician.

But Bokuto’s better. He’s fire where Kuroo’s water. Together, they fight the steamiest battle Tokyo Middle School Championship has ever seen. Bokuto’s team wins two out of three sets and, as promised, he and Kuroo hug it out right there on the court. Kuroo doesn’t cry, as Bokuto’s dream scenario entailed. As revenge, Bokuto musses Kuroo’s hair and Kuroo can’t stop laughing.

 

**TEN: when it rains**

After the match, Bokuto splits with his team which returns to Hokkaido. He goes with his and Kuroo’s family for dinner. The idea of running towards Akaashi’s shop crosses his mind more than once but he decides against it. If he sees him now, he could lose his resolve.

They dine at a small family diner that serves the best teriyaki and beef bowls. Bokuto orders more than he can eat but neither of his parents chastises him for it.

“Next year, I’ll beat you,” Kuroo promises.

“You can meow at the moon all night, but you’ll _never_ win.”

Kuroo lightly kicks him under the table.

Their parents are involved in their own conversation. Bokuto feels like he’s home again. He’s quick to adapt, so life in Hokkaido hasn’t been a nightmare. But moments like these remind him of how good it has been before. And he wants it back. He never voices these thoughts; they sound selfish in his head. He’s only allowed himself to make one promise – one day he will return to Tokyo.

It gets late and Kuroo yawns first. It’s been a long day for both of them. Kuroo pulls his team’s jacket over his shoulders and Bokuto rubs his full belly.

Bokuto’s mother excuses herself to go to the restroom before they leave. Bokuto feels like he’s about to fall asleep but he doesn’t want to live with the shame of being carried to the car. He’s fourteen, after all.

The blissful night ends when his mother doesn’t make it to the restroom at all. She doesn’t make five steps before she collapses. This time, she falls unconscious. Bokuto realizes with dread and guilt that he should’ve told dad about this earlier.

 

**ELEVEN**

Bokuto doesn’t know much about diseases and conditions beyond flu and chicken-pox. So, when his father tells him that his mother has a _benign tumour_ , he only understands that it’s bad. Bokuto’s father insists his mother stays in Tokyo where he can be the doctor in charge of her and get the best treatment possible. He’s worried like Bokuto’s never seen him worry before. He explains, using as few big words as he can, that his mother’s condition _can_ get worse. She needs to have the tumour removed. After that, she needs rest. A lot of it.

Kuroo squeezes Bokuto’s hand in the waiting room. Bokuto only realizes he’s crying when one of his tears falls on the back of Kuroo’s hand.

His father is strapped in his impeccable white uniform after he’s performed another set of tests on his mother. He brings Kuroo and Bokuto something to eat, but they set the food aside. His father sits next to Bokuto and strokes his hair. The gesture is soothing because Bokuto is jagged around the edges with acidic guilt.

“I spoke with your mother,” says his father. “And we both agreed it would be best if you moved back to Tokyo. If that’s okay with you.”

Bokuto gives a wordless nod.

 

On the verge of turning fifteen, Bokuto returns to Tokyo. Just not how he imagined he would.


	2. You know where to find me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As predicted, this chapter deserves an M warning so I've updated the fic accordingly. If you still want to skip it, refer to the second part of 'a name for this'. Otherwise, enjoy the end of this little journey!

**TWELVE: new beginnings taste like salt**

During one of his pre-operation hospital visits, Bokuto walks in on an unusual sight.  His mother, pulled up in a sitting position on her bed, is engaged in a conversation with his father. There’s a clipboard tucked under his father’s arm. He’s twirling a strand of his mother’s blond hair.

“I never got to tell you that blond looks good on you,” Bokuto’s father says.

Bokuto’s mother doesn’t buy it. She’s a scoffer who can’t accept a compliment if her life depended on it. Bokuto used to try to flatter her into buying him toys but it never worked. Not once.

“Are you buttering me up to prepare me for bad news?”

Bokuto father’s releases her hair and laughs with the back of his hand pressed to his mouth. “Ever the doubting Thomas,” he says.

“Only with you,” she says and Bokuto gives himself away when he laughs. His parents finally turn their attention towards him. His father, ever the perfect picture of composure, harrumphs and pushes his glasses up. His mother chuckles. Sunlight streams through the open window and gives her a sickly, pale glow. Bokuto’s stomach still clenches with guilt when he sees her like this. Even though he knows she’s having an operation scheduled for next week that will lead to recovery. Or so he’s been told.

His father says, “I’ll drop by later to check-up on you.” On his way out, he pats Bokuto’s hair, careful not to ruin his hairstyle masterpiece.

Bokuto looks at his mother in a way that is mischievous and she immediately raises her hand. She points to the chair next to the bed and Bokuto sits on it.

“Told you that you were meant to be a blonde,” Bokuto teases. His mother shakes her head in an exasperated fashion.

Then: “Koutarou. I know I haven’t been fair to you.” She plays with the edge of the blanket. She folds it then unfolds it. “And I haven’t talked to you about your father and our divorce at all for the past three years. But, you’re fifteen. You can, perhaps, understand it now.”

Bokuto nods as if interrupting with words could discourage her from continuing.

“Before we started dating, your father and I have been great friends. Best of friends. Which is why crossing that line was terrifying. But when we did, it was all we ever wanted. Then we got you, and everything was perfect.

But something broke along the way. Even before we started arguing – and I know you could hear us and I’m so sorry for that – we knew something was wrong. There’s no rhyme and reason to love, you know. Sometimes it’s there forever, sometimes it runs out.

I think both your father and I were angry that our love didn’t last. Then we turned that anger against each other. Now that we’ve cooled down, we’ve realized our mistakes. We can’t back to the time we loved each like husband and wife. But, we can try to be friends again. We’d both like that.

So, we were wondering if that would be alright with you. You suffered due to our selfishness and you never complained, not once. We owe you this much.”

Bokuto listens to her monologue. She keeps her tone steady and calm yet her voice wavers at times. The word ‘love’ never sits right on her tongue. Bokuto’s eyes sting and he presses his sleeve to them until they calm down. He rummages his head for words, but none of them are adequate. He wonders if he’s got his simplistic tendencies from his father.

“Kou?”

“Mom,” Bokuto says. “I’m happy if you guys are happy.” His words are simple, yet he plucked them from a meadow of his heart. His mother pulls him in for a hug. Bokuto can’t convince his tears to stay in his eyes. 

 

**THIRTEEN: promotion by default**

“Kuroo, you know what annoys me so much I could squeeze an entire melon with my bare hands?” Bokuto says during warm-ups on their sixth day of high school. He’s applying pressure on Kuroo’s back while he stretches. Kuroo’s long legs are sprawled on the floor, already coated in sweat. Fukuroneko volleyball team has long and intense warm-up sessions.

“ _Do_ enlighten me.”

“How every time we graduate we have to start over. Why am I not a captain already? There should be a promotion by default for middle school excellence.”

“ _Wow_ ,” Kuroo says, his tone sarcastic. Bokuto presses him down just a tad too hard as punishment. “ _Ow_.”

Kuroo pushes himself up. It’s Bokuto’s turn to stretch on the floor.

“I assure you,” Kuroo says, “that every single one of those third years can kick our asses with their eyes closed.”

“Thanks for being on my side.” Bokuto purses his lips just as he bows low enough for his forehead to touch the floor. He, instead, kisses it. He jerks back so fast that Kuroo doesn’t have time to pull away. Bokuto slams right into his face.

“ _Ow_ ,” Kuroo winces. He swats Bokuto on the back of his head, but the blow barely feels like revenge. “But you’re welcome. I’m here to make sure you don’t embarrass yourself. And by extension, _me_.”

Kuroo is right, as he tends to be. But Bokuto still glares at him during practice or sticks his tongue out at him when he turns around. Kuroo takes Bokuto’s childishness with composure of an adult. Bokuto isn’t on edge because of what Kuroo’s said, and Kuroo must know that. 

 

They’re not in the same class but they wait for each other by the lockers. Today is Bokuto’s turn to wait because Kuroo’s on class duty. While he waits, he plays with the ring on the chain around his neck. The swirly pattern engraved in the silver is yellow today. When he hears footsteps approaching, Bokuto tucks the ring under his shirt.

“You’re coming?” It’s Kuroo.

On their way home, they pass next to the shadowy street with cracks and holes in the pavement. Bokuto doesn’t spare it a second glance. His hastened step betrays his cowardice.

“Bokuto,” Kuroo says. The silence is bursting with meaning but Kuroo builds tension by remaining quiet.

“Yeah?” Bokuto asks. He’s looking down at the pavement.

“You’ve been on edge for a while. You didn’t go say ‘hi’ to Akaashi, did you.”

“Maybe I didn’t,” Bokuto says, petulant like a child that knows it’s going to be reprimanded.

Kuroo stops walking.

“ _Bokuto_.”

Bokuto groans and turns around. He points a rude finger at Kuroo. “Don’t stand in the middle of the street and say my name like you want me to do your bidding!” He wiggles his fingers in Kuroo’s direction as if he’s sending some evil mojo his way. “Bad kitty.”

Kuroo sighs and rests his hands on his hips as if he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t support himself. “Please talk to me in a way that makes sense.”

Bokuto’s hands drop to his sides. “It’s just. He told me that only people who need him for something can see his shop. And I can see him _all_ the time. What if I’ve developed some weird dependency on him because I was going through a rough time when I met him?”

“That’s some advance thinking.”

“Kuroo, I’m being serious.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” Kuroo says. He closes the distance between them and puts his hands firmly on Bokuto’s shoulders. He always does that when he needs Bokuto’s undivided attention. Since Bokuto’s shoulders are wider now, he’s having difficulty grasping them in full. “But you can’t run from this. Not if you want to keep his friendship. You _do_ want that, don’t you?”

Bokuto bites his lip and nods. That’s one of few truths he’s never doubted – wanting Akaashi in his life. 

 

**FOURTEEN: how to say ‘I missed you’ without actually saying it**

Bokuto bids farewell to Kuroo and sprints into the street. He keeps to the left side to avoid being seen before the time is right. His heart’s running a marathon from his feet to his chest and then to his throat. A single glimpse of that ridiculous wall-roof puts a smile on his dry lips. He attempts to stop running short of entrance but he ends up running past the shop altogether.

He hears a rustle of paper as he turns around. Akaashi’s already on his feet, his palms resting on the counter so he can lean over it and see what’s happening.

“Hey,” Bokuto says and waves his hand. He imagines what a casual smile could look like, and then tries his best to imitate the image in his head. It’s hard to pretend it hasn’t been three years. And even harder to pretend he didn’t think of Akaashi almost every day.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi says. The sound of Akaashi’s voice calling out to him feels like revival. Something old and dusty wakes within Bokuto’s chest.

He enters the shop. His limbs feel awkward, like he doesn’t know what to do with them. He’s the same height as Akaashi now, but wider in hips and shoulders.

Akaashi stands in the shadows of dim light and glimmers like an ethereal star. He hasn’t aged a day. The lines of his boyish face are smooth and relaxed, not a single blemish dares touch his skin. His hair, darker than lonely nights in Hokkaido, curls around 6 or 7 small, round piercings on his ears. As Kuroo’s reported, swirly black ink climbs up the curves of his arms.

“Your hair,” Akaashi says, and Bokuto tears his gaze away from his body.

“Do you like it?” Bokuto asks. He tries not to sound insecure about it.

Akaashi gives a nod that turns into a subtle tug of his lips. “It’s very— _you_.” He continues, “You’ve grown a lot. Kuroo’s told me you play volleyball.”

Bokuto gives an enthusiastic flex of his abs. Kuroo’s told him to stop doing that but he’s still working on it. “Yup. Kuroo says it’s made me the finest hug machine.”

Akaashi lifts an eyebrow. “Should I take that as a subtle invitation for a hug?”

Bokuto’s mouth drops. “If–if you want to.”

Akaashi spreads his arms slightly. Bokuto doesn’t go for it right away. There’s a rock stuck in the cogs of his brain. Hugging Akaashi now has a different meaning than hugging him when he was a kid, his face full of tears. He’s unable to explain why.

Finally, he discards the thoughts and wraps his arms around Akaashi’s neck. Akaashi’s hands come to rest on the small of Bokuto’s back. Bokuto inhales the soap and jasmine and closes his eyes to savor the sweet smell of familiarity. When he opens his eyes again, a glimpse of light catches his attention. The back of Akaashi’s hair sparkles. Like a myriad of infinitesimal stars peppered across the vast black sky. Bokuto can’t resist running his fingers through them. He feels Akaashi shiver against him so he pulls his fingers back. When he looks at them, they’re not shiny.

“I’ll be able to lift you up so good in a couple of years,” Bokuto says when they part.

“Slow down.” Akaashi’s words hide a chuckle in them. “Are you visiting?”

“No, I—“ Bokuto pauses. He gathers himself again. “I moved back.”

“Your parents?” Akaashi asks with genuine concern.

Bokuto doesn’t know where to start. So he chooses the beginning. He justifies that talking about everything that’s happened will help him understand it more. Or accept it with ease. The mere act of _looking_ at Akaashi undoes a dozen of knots in Bokuto’s stomach.

Bokuto talks and Akaashi listens without interrupting. 

 

**FIFTEEN: what magic can’t give you**

Bokuto kisses his mother while nurses transport her for operation. Kuroo’s in the waiting room with him and so is his dad. The operation will take a couple of hours but no complications are expected to occur. “She’s in good hands,” he’s been told a million times in a span of five minutes.

Bokuto bounces his leg and counts the tiles on the sterile floor. At one point, Kuroo tries to massage his shoulders but that only makes him tenser. He understands that his hands are tied. That doesn’t mean he has to be okay with it.

He gets up and startles both his father and Kuroo.

“I’ll be back,” he says.

“Where are you goin—” His father begins but Kuroo touches his arm and al protests die on his lips.

Bokuto runs and feels his father’s eyes on his back until he’s out of sight. 

 

Bokuto bursts into Akaashi’s shop. He takes a second to appreciate how Akaashi’s never startled by anything he does. Be it rushing inside or raising his voice in excitement or abruptly waving his hands. Akaashi is immune to it all.

“I want to make something,” says Bokuto, his palm squeezing his throbbing side. Sprinting long distance without warming up is coming back to bite him in the ass.

“What?”

“A— _something_ ,” Bokuto’s voice cuts off due to lack of air. “A ring that—maybe—puts someone’s mind at ease and helps them sleep. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” Akaashi says. “Do _you_ want to make it?”

“I want to try.”

Akaashi takes Bokuto to the table. He gives him a scrap of unmolded silver material and a pointy tool Bokuto doesn’t have a name for. He puts his palms to the surface of the table and heat begins to emanate from it. Akaashi’s hands don’t burn.

“Use that to shape it,” Akaashi instructs.

Bokuto listens to Akaashi’s advice. This type of task is delicate in nature and Bokuto’s fingers are big and clumsy, his palms meant for spiking the ball. But giving up never crosses his mind, not when Akaashi’s watching his every move.

“Are you helping me with your—“ Bokuto says but doesn’t finish it. 

“I’m only guiding you.”

Once the molding is done, the material softens just enough for Bokuto to carve random swirls in it. That must be Akaashi’s doing too. The final product is a silver ring with magenta carvings. Akaashi closes his palm over the ring and holds it there for a couple of seconds. When it’s done, Bokuto’s palm is warm to the touch.

“Thank you,” Bokuto says.

“Go. You should be there when your mother wakes.”

Bokuto, then, acts entirely on impulse. Before he rushes out of the shop, he presses a quick kiss on Akaashi’s cheek. He doesn’t stick around to see his face. 

 

The first thing Bokuto’s mother says when she wakes is: “Why is your shirt wet?”

Bokuto ignores the question and kisses her temple. He takes her thin, weak hand and slides the ring on her ring finger. The ring fills the space that her wedding ring used to occupy. She blinks at it and brings it closer to her face.

“For the bravest, most beautiful woman I know,” Bokuto says.

His mother takes his hand. She doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to.

Bokuto’s father suggests that they move back in with him. At least until Bokuto’s mother reaches full recovery. Bokuto’s been living with his father since he came back anyway.

In a way, Bokuto’s new life had some semblance of his old one. He had both his parents. He had Kuroo. He had Akaashi. Everything else, he’ll take in time. 

 

**SIXTEEN: art of keeping one’s chin up**

Bokuto is sixteen when Kuroo becomes the vice-captain of their volleyball team. Yet he doesn’t seem happy about it. During stretches, he says: “Y’know, I’m ready to let some romance in my life.”

Bokuto becomes all ears. “ _Oh_ ~ Got your sights on someone?”

“No, that’s the problem,” Kuroo says. When he stretches his arm, his shoulder clicks painfully. He doesn’t seem to mind. “What about you?”

Bokuto shrugs. “Romance’s not important to me.”

Kuroo’s raised eyebrows tell him he doesn’t buy it. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

 

Fukuroneko loses in the quarter-finals of the nationals. The third-years are pretty bummed out about the loss. But Bokuto is in high spirits because they were close enough. Next year they’ll only get closer.

When he tells Akaashi about their feat, Akaashi congratulates him with a smile. He asks Akaashi to make him knee pads that will guarantee he will successfully spike every ball. Akaashi refuses. “Work hard,” he says. Some things never change. 

 

**SEVENTEEN:  how to help a cat with a crush**

For a seventeen-year-old, Kuroo sighs a lot. Kuroo’s sighs signify theatrical exasperation that is usually followed by a dry statement. But not these ‘new’ sighs. They are long and dreamy, tinged with a dash of despair. At one point, Bokuto has had enough.

“Kuroo, what’s with you? Is the air not to your liking this year or—?”

Kuroo, or Captain Kuroo, is putting the net up with Bokuto’s help while the rest of the team is stretching.

“Bokuto, I—“ Kuroo says and checks to see if anyone else is close enough to hear them. “I think I like someone.”

“ _Whoa_!”Bokuto exclaims and Kuroo kicks him in the shin. “Sorry. Who’s the lucky one?”

Kuroo looks straight at the net. Bokuto knows those poor, silent techniques to avoid replying.  He’s tried them all himself. Bokuto, peeved, lets the net go and it tumbles on the floor with a thud. Kuroo finally faces him, but his expression is unreadable. He’s biting his lip and his forehead is wrinkled. Bokuto’s never seen Kuroo look so… insecure.

“Okay,” Kuroo says. Bokuto imagines he’s saying it to encourage himself. “That person is in this room. Blonde. Glasses.”

“ _Tsukishima_?!”

Kuroo slams his hand on Bokuto’s mouth. Bokuto almost tumbles to the ground from the force of Kuroo’s push. He nods slowly, reassuringly, at Kuroo and Kuroo releases his mouth.

“So, you’re…?” Bokuto says. Kuroo takes a step back and scratches the back of his neck, his gaze falling to the floor.

“Yeah, I think so.”

It’s Bokuto’s turn, after all these years, to put his hands on Kuroo’s slender shoulders. Kuroo looks up at him.

“Okay,” Bokuto says. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Kuroo closes his eyes and sighs one more time. It’s a different kind of sigh now. A sigh of relief.

“He’s a bit hard to talk to, but my Intel tells me he likes music and dinosaurs.”

Bokuto smirks. “I think I know just the place that could give you what you need to woo the object of your fancy.”

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds creepy.”

“What?! I thought it sounded cool. And mysterious.”

“Bokuto. _No_.”

 

There’s a childlike air to Kuroo when he looks at Akaashi’s shop and _sees_ it. The first thing he does is hug Akaashi. Bokuto notices, with a sliver of envy to his pout, that there’s no tension to their hug. The hug lasts long enough to make it obvious that, by now, Kuroo is taller than Akaashi too.

“It’s good to see you, Kuroo,” Akaashi says. His hands don’t linger after a hug, they never do. “I presume you need my services.”

“Correct.”

“We are trying to win Kuroo a cute boyfriend,” Bokuto chirps in.

“Ah, what makes you think he can’t do it by himself?” Akaashi inquires. He’s already preparing tools and materials on the table.

“Because, all he does is sigh like some grandpa climbing up a set of stairs.”

“Wow,” Kuroo says. “ _Brotreyal_.”

“It’s the truth.”

Akaashi laughs. _Really_ laughs like he’s never laughed before. Bokuto and Kuroo both stop their playful bickering to revel in the sound. The sky could split open and a thousand angels could sing from the clouds. But they could never make a song more beautiful than Akaashi’s laugh.

“So,” Akaashi says. “What did you two have in mind?”

On their way over, they brainstormed for ideas. They’ve come up with one silly, unusual idea that is bound to knock Tsukishima off his feet. Or at least ease his frown.

“Kuroo, you can help make it. But be careful, the tools are easy to break,” says Bokuto. He’s been helping out Akaashi during the summer. Akaashi’s even offered to pay him, but Bokuto refused. He’s never seen Akaashi take payment from people either. Besides, spending time with Akaashi is payment enough. He didn’t tell that last bit to Kuroo when they met in the evenings.  

“You know that better than anyone,” Akaashi says. He must still hold some pointless grudge because all his tools were like new the very next day which Bokuto kindly pointed out.

“ _Akaashi_.”

Kuroo brushes his nervousness with a guffaw but his hands tremble when they create. Akaashi stands next to them during the whole process. Bokuto can’t tell if he’s helping them in secret, or only supervising.

Their idea takes shape after an hour of work: a silver tyrannosaurus rex the size of a palm. There’s an USB port on his back. When he plays music, he makes small hand movements that are meant to be a dance.

“Should we add an alarm clock option? When it’s time to wake up, it can roar?” Akaashi suggests.

“Yes, please,” Kuroo says. “He’s going to love it. Hell, even _I_ love it.”

Once the work is complete, Kuroo and Bokuto linger around the shop. Akaashi prepares them tea in the back room and brings it to the counter. This is the first time Bokuto has seen Akaashi drink – or eat. Yet his stomach never growls, nor are his lips and mouth dry. Now, Akaashi drinks his tea in small sips and watches them.

“Y’know,” Kuroo says to Akaashi. “My first impression of you was that you were reserved and hard to win over. But you actually had no idea what to do with us, hadn’t you?”

Akaashi takes another sip, before he says: “I’m sure you know I’m not well-versed in taking care of kids. It’s their parents who find me, usually.”

“Well, now you’ve practiced on the most demanding kid of all. You’re a professional,” Kuroo teases as he repeatedly elbows Bokuto’s side.

“I’m right here!” Bokuto exclaims. But he doesn’t hold it against Kuroo. He wishes Kuroo could see the shop more often. 

 

**EIGHTEEN: graduation is not as big of a deal as everyone wants you to think**

Kuroo and Bokuto graduate high school without winning the nationals once. It’s not that big of a deal for either of them. They are both accepted to their first-choice college. Kuroo even gives Tsukishima the second button from the top of his uniform. At that point, Bokuto leaves them and runs to Akaashi’s shop.

“Guess who graduated!”

Akaashi closes his book. “Congratulations.”

Bokuto enters the shop and pulls up that old, dingy chair to sit next to Akaashi. Now that the hype about graduation is over, he lets his bones relax into blissful exhaustion. He’s run here to hang out with Akaashi but he ends up slouching over the counter. He rests his head on the pillow of his arms. Bokuto doesn’t ask him to, but Akaashi begins to stroke his hair.

“Akaashi,” Bokuto murmurs and his voice hits the counter.

“Hm?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“What do you want to know?”

“How old are you? Why are you here?”

“I’m not as old as you probably think. I stopped aging near the end of the Edo period.”

History is no friend of Bokuto’s, but he’s aware that Edo period ended over 150 years ago.

“I’m here because—because it’s a family trait. This is what we do. This is what we love doing.” A breath of nostalgia sneaks its way into Akaashi’s words.

“Have you been alone all this time?”

A pause, in which Akaashi’s hand only works around Bokuto’s hair with more affection.

“After my parents gave up their immortality, yes. Most people find me once, take what they need and never come back,” Akaashi says, so simply that Bokuto feels sad and lonely in his stead. “Then there is you.” Akaashi’s words are a suggestion that give rise to a different kind of feeling in Bokuto.

Bokuto tries to hide his face in his arms even more. But there’s nowhere left to go. He thinks of that day at practice, when Kuroo’s asked him: “ _What about you_?” followed by an incredulous “ _Really_?”

“Akaashi,” Bokuto says, voice a whisper so unlike his usual way of speaking. Akaashi hums in response. Then: “I think I love you.”

Akaashi doesn’t stop stroking Bokuto’s hair so Bokuto thinks he may not have heard him. Even if Akaashi hasn’t heard his words, he must hear the beating of his heart. His pulse is slamming into the table like a ravenous snake. Bokuto suppresses a shiver. He doesn’t know how to tame this feeling inside him.

“I think I knew,” Akaashi says. His voice is cure to any ailment.

“You did?”

“I may not have a lot of interpersonal experience, but my instincts are just fine.”

Bokuto gathers all his courage at the tip of his spine and lifts his head up. Akaashi waits for him there, a ghost of a smile tilting on his lips.

“If you’re okay with me—”

Akaashi doesn’t have the opportunity to finish his sentence. Bokuto tears off the second button from the top of his uniform. He catches Akaashi’s hand as it slides out of his hair. He presses the button into Akaashi’s precious, magical palm. Akaashi closes his palm around it as if to protect it from harm, from time. Bokuto doesn’t let go of Akaashi’s hand.

Seconds are charged with possibility but neither moves. Nothing happens until Akaashi tugs at Bokuto’s hand and pulls him closer. The chair creaks and Bokuto finds balance by resting his hand on Akaashi’s knee. Bokuto’s eyes drink in the timeless features of Akaashi’s face; the soft curves of his jaw and nose, his flushed cheeks. Then, his lips.

_How long have I been waiting, without knowing that what I’ve been waiting for was here the whole time?_

Bokuto slides his fingers into stars in Akaashi’s hair. He tilts his head up and mouths at his lips like a starving animal. He doesn’t know how to do this. But if it’s for Akaashi, he wants to learn.

It’s Akaashi who connects their lips. The kiss is a promise of what they could be, if given time and privacy. They share soft, hushed kisses until the night falls and covers the cracks in the pavement.  

 

**NINETEEN: a game of pretend that lasted 4 years**

Bokuto didn’t imagine his nineteen-year-old self would spend his time carrying around textbooks from Location A to Location B, without fail, every day. He’ll later fall asleep over every single one of them. Kuroo laughs at him whenever their paths cross. That is, after he’s done pretending he doesn’t recognize the studious version of Bokuto. Bokuto grows fond of Tsukishima because his sharp, discerning eyes put Kuroo in line.

On rainy autumn afternoons, Bokuto studies at Akaashi’s shop. As the rain fills the cracks and holes in the pavement, so is Bokuto filled with serenity and infinity. But most of all, it’s Akaashi who’s by his side that keeps him focused and goal-oriented.

It’s been a little over a year since they’ve been dating, but there’s no rush. They’re taking the time they need for themselves, and then for each other.

Bokuto stretches with a loud, ceremonious yawn once he’s done studying. A crick has settled in his neck but he’s too busy keeping his eyes open to care. Beside him, Akaashi stirs.

“I never asked you,” Bokuto says. “When is your birthday?”

“I don’t have one,” Akaashi answers. “That I remember at least. When is yours?”

“I don’t have one,” Bokuto repeats.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi utters. That one word turns Bokuto into jelly.

Bokuto exhales like it pains him to say it. “September the 20th.”

“That’s soon.”

“I guess.”

Akaashi slides closer. His chair doesn’t creak. “When did you stop celebrating your birthday?”

Bokuto turns away. “When I returned from Hokkaido.” He’s sure Akaashi understands why.

Before words, Bokuto feels a pair of lips press a kiss to his shoulder.  “Let’s change that this year.”

 

**TWENTY: a name for this**

Bokuto forgets September the 20th has arrived until Akaashi pulls him towards the back doors of the shop. Bokuto’s asked about what is behind them more than once, and Akaashi’s always said ‘mess’. He doesn’t know what to expect, perhaps a land of unicorns or galaxies in small. When Akaashi opens those mysterious doors, they lead to a narrow hallway with a staircase. Bokuto is disappointment.

“What did you expect?” Akaashi says. His insight on Bokuto’s unspoken thoughts is becoming a problem.

“Magic.”

“Well…” Akaashi leads him upstairs. There, no magic happens either. The room is a kitchenette with one window that opens to another set of stairs. They climb them and reach a dimly-lit, windowless attic room. A single king-sized bed is surrounded by bookshelves and a wardrobe. It’s not about what the room is like. It’s about what the room is like when Akaashi’s breathing inside it.

The stars in Akaashi’s hair light the way to his bed. Akaashi sets his knees and the bed sinks under his weight. He turns around and pulls Bokuto until he’s on all fours above him. Bokuto’s throat goes dry before he can think to say anything.

“I was thinking about what I could give you that you don’t already have. And I couldn’t think of anything,” Akaashi says. He lets himself fall on his back, arms spread wide as if he wants to make a snow angel on the sheets. “So I thought of sharing this with you. If you want it.”

Bokuto swallows, finds his voice somehow. “I want it.” He presses himself closer to leave a trail of kisses from Akaashi’s forehead to his chest; he presses himself closer to let Akaashi’s know just _how much_ he wants this. Akaashi’s breath is hot and heavy on his neck, betraying where to nip and lick, and how hard.

Once Akaashi’s shirt is off, Bokuto revels in his chest, the flawless and untouched expanse of skin. Bokuto discovers a hunger in him that is older than Akaashi himself. He takes Akaashi’s right nipple in his mouth, turns it raw and puckered until Akaashi feels it enough to part his legs. Consciously or not.

Bokuto makes himself a new home between Akaashi’s legs and pushes himself up until he’s kneeling.

He says: “A few years ago, I avoided you after my return. I avoided you because I thought what we had was one-sided dependency. Me using your kindness.” His thumb strokes Akaashi’s bottom lip, pulling his mouth open just a crack. “But I found a better term for what we have. For _this_.”

“Hm?” Akaashi’s eyes are heavy-lidded. He’s not listening with his ears.

“Soulmates.”

Bokuto pulls his shirt off and the ring around his neck swings free. He tears it off his neck, breaks the cheap chain too. Akaashi remains still, following Bokuto’s movements with but with a curious glint in his eyes. Bokuto takes his hand and slides the ring on Akaashi’s slender ring-finger.

Akaashi spreads his fingers and opens his hand to the ceiling as if he’s trying to high-five the universe. He blinks as if to shake off the stars in his eyes. Bokuto can’t watch without intervening anymore; he takes Akaashi’s hand and kisses every finger, every knuckle. Then, he bites Akaashi’s _taken_ ring finger. Akaashi seems to like that; his lips open around a sigh.

Bokuto discards Akaashi’s pants fast, but savors the pale flesh of his thighs with patience. This is how he learns something new about himself too. His mouth finally closes around the wet bulge of Akaashi’s underwear. He looks at Akaashi and almost drools at the sight of Akaashi’s fingers caressing his own lips as if to make up for the absence of Bokuto’s.

As revenge for Akaashi’s shameless teasing, Bokuto removes Akaashi’s underwear and runs his hand up and down Akaashi’s thighs without touching his erection.

“Bokuto,” Akaashi sighs, a warning that doesn’t bite or stick but merely testifies to his impatience.

Bokuto lick a long, tantalizingly slow line down the length of Akaashi’s cock. He says: “Gifts are meant to be unwrapped slowly.”

Akaashi’s thighs twitch against Bokuto’s palms. He bites his lip like he wants to try and endure the slow burn, but his eyes scream _more, now, hurry_. Bokuto complies to that request. 

With all of his clothes gone, Bokuto crashes himself against Akaashi and kisses his lonely, pink mouth until it’s red, bruised and gasping for air. Bokuto gets so lost in the skin-on-skin sensation that he barely notices when Akaashi presses a lube and a condom in his palm.

Akaashi winces against the first stretch of Bokuto’s fingers but relaxes against it after a while. His whole body opens up to accommodate the burn. Bokuto loves him for it; for the unbreakable, beckoning eye contact; for the throaty moans; for the inviting column of his throat; for the urgent nail marks on Bokuto’s forearms. He works Akaashi open with such care and determination that Akaashi’s half out of his mind when Bokuto finally decides to feel some of that pleasure too.

He presses himself into Akaashi, heartbeat against erratic heartbeat. Akaashi’s nails find Bokuto’s back and dig into it. Everything around Bokuto burns.

“I’m glad you are bigger than me,” Akaashi’s voice is sultry in Bokuto’s ears. He clenches around Bokuto and it takes all Bokuto has not to come right there and then.

“Now of all times to reveal your kinks…” Bokuto says and hopes it comes out coherent and at least a fraction as teasing as he meant it to be.

“Is there a better time?”

Bokuto pursues the urgent desire for release that pools hot and low in his stomach. Akaashi’s arousal is hard and dripping, pressed flush between their bodies. They move in tandem against each other, insisting to outlast the other. In some contradictory way, Bokuto wants to draw this moment out, carve it against treacherous time but Akaashi—

Akaashi takes control. He presses the soles of his feet to the back of Bokuto’s thighs and draws him in deeper. One of them moans. Both, maybe.  

Bokuto can no longer hold on. 

 

The sheets are warm and messy, but Akaashi’s pillow is soft and cold and just perfect. Bokuto’s fingers are painting light touches on Akaashi’s back. Akaashi’s  breathing is slow, methodical, as if he’s not here but in outer space with little to no oxygen left to spare.

Bokuto stirs and the movement causes Akaashi to look up at him. He asks: “I’ve been wondering for a while, if you can live forever, why do you stay in one place and make magical items for ordinary people?”

“Our family’s magic, when used for good, adds to our karma,” Akaashi explains. “Our karma prolongs our life and keeps us young. We were given magic, and in turn we have to give back to the world. That’s why ordinary people aren’t aware of magic. It’s never used for evil because that’s pointless.”

“That makes sense,” Bokuto says.

“If I were to stop using my magic, I would lose my immortality.”

“Is that what your parents did?”

“Yes. They wanted to die together. My mother was human.” Akaashi says and pulls himself up to rest his head on Bokuto’s chest. Bokuto wants to ask Akaashi if he misses his parents but Akaashi’s eyes give him the answer. Akaashi continues: “What would you say if I wanted to do that for you?”

Bokuto brushes loose, curly strands of Akaashi’s hair out of Akaashi’s eyes. He caresses Akaashi’s piercings, one by one, and says: “I wouldn’t want you to do that if you felt obligated to.”

“Don’t you want us to live out our lives together?”

“We can still do that. You know I’m a simpleton, I don’t think that far in the future,” Bokuto says. “Right now, there’s a gorgeous man here with me, with my ring on his finger. That’s more than I can ask for. ”

Akaashi smiles in a way that is pure and heart-wrenching at the same time. “I don’t think Kuroo gives you enough credit.”

“I know, right!”

 

**TWENTY ONE: if forever is in store**

“Y’know,” Kuroo says, a little out of breath. “I figured that once you two got together, you would remove that concealing magic from the shop so I can actually enter your house like a normal person.” He pushes himself off the ladders, which conveniently hang on the kitchen window for Kuroo’s use only, and stumbles into the room. “I’m 28, so I can still do this. But what happens when I’m 40?”

“You’re working a desk job, a little cardio is good for you,” Bokuto says.

“Is a little heart attack good for me too?” Kuroo’s wearing a suit. He’s the only one who’s taken this anniversary seriously. It’s been 20 years since the three of them have met. “Seriously, Akaashi, remove the magic. At least for me.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Akaashi deadpans. Kuroo scoffs. Then: “I can’t remove it. That’s not how it works.”

“Heart attack it is, then.” Kuroo sits down, dejected and sweaty.

Akaashi pats Kuroo’s head as he goes to the kitchen counter to bring champagne. He pops it open and fills each of their glasses.

“Kuroo, you can come be my co-coach or something. High school kids are energetic nowadays.”

“No thanks, I’ve had quite enough of that.”

Bokuto grins. “Does Tsukishima know he lives with a man who is a 60-year-old grandpa on the inside?”

“He’s quite alright with that.”

Akaashi clears his throat and it turns Bokuto and Kuroo’s attention to him. He raises his glass in a toast and they follow suit. Bokuto doesn’t over-think the feeling in his heart when he presses the glass to his lips. His two most precious people are with him and he’s not going to live forever. Sometimes, when he wakes up before Akaashi and sees his face swimming around the stars in his hair, he wishes he _could_ live forever. But he can’t and he loves Akaashi all the same.

As for the shop, for now, the awkward wall-roof stays open for anyone who ever gets lost and follows the cracks and holes in the concrete home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is possibly one of the fics I enjoyed writing the most so I hope you enjoy reading it too. Feedback and your thoughts are always precious and welcome!


End file.
